


doubt

by orphan_account



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, kind of a vent fic??, why do i always hurt brendon lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 08:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9648812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "i've got a lot of friends who are stars, but some are just black holes."





	

Sometimes, Brendon didn’t feel like enough. He knew he was but sometimes self-doubt came creeping up in the pitfall of his mind, particularly at 2 AM while laying face down in his bunk.

He would never in his right mind admit it to anyone because he didn’t particularly want sympathy hugs from Jon and Spencer, nor soothing words from Ryan but.

Sometimes, he just—.

Jon Walker was a literal angel, everyone with functional eyes could see that. He had emerged from the rubble of Brent getting unanimously kicked out of the band and rescued them all like Jesus saved all those random civilians. Plus, he let Brendon demand cuddles from him at any time and bought him ice cream when those meanies Spencer and Ryan didn’t let him have any sugar.

Spencer Smith, well, he was kind of a bitch but at least no one dared to laugh at him. Brendon was all too easy to laugh at and often ended up the butt-end of everyone’s jokes. He didn’t mind, not until 2 AM when he was lying flat in his bunk, staring at the ceiling, wondering if it IS true that his hips are far too large for his body. He had this air of confidence around him that Brendon could never hope to emulate, not in his wildest dreams.

Ryan. Fuck, Ryan. Brendon could never go into detail about everything that made up Ryan Ross, he was in love with too many details. The older boy had such a way with words — cliché, yes, but true — and where he had trouble expressing feelings in daily conversation, he conveyed himself perfectly in song lyrics. Brendon tried to write a song once, published it on Youtube on and everything, and got a grand total of 19 views. He was maybe a little in love with Ryan Ross.

Ryan was wise, for lack of a better word choice. Wise beyond his years.

So maybe he was a little jealous that all his bandmates were glittering stars and he was a gaping black hole with a cool singing voice. At least no one had caught on yet. He’d have been booted out of the band faster than you could say Brent if he wasn’t such a decent singer.

-

Brendon was 90% sure he was irritating the ever-living shit out of his bandmates by obnoxiously sucking on the remnants of his capri-sun pouch but in his defense, he was bored. He wasn’t about to let this pacific cooler capri-sun go to waste anyway, it was his favorite flavor.

Five minutes passed, and if Spencer’s eye twitches were noticed, no one said anything about it.

Ten minutes later, Ryan had circled his long, long fingers around Brendon’s wrist and dragged him off the bus, away from Spencer’s clutches. They could still hear him screaming as the duo dashed to a restaurant — a temporary hide-out.

They looked at each other, Brendon momentarily paralyzed, until Ryan snorted and doubled over in laughter. Anything Ryan did, Brendon eventually did too, and thus, he followed suit and started giggling. Were they laughing at himself? He wasn’t surprised.

“Come on, let’s get some food, baby.”

Brendon would follow Ryan anywhere.


End file.
